Return of the Rat
by Tokoya
Summary: REPOST Things have been quiet since Ratigan's demise. A little too quiet...


A/N: Okay, a quick little note to anyone who bothers to read these author note things—I took a good long hard look at this story and realized that what I had royally sucked. And Joanna was **unintentionally** turning into a marysue character. So I've changed some things and am redoing the whole gosh darn story. I've attended some writing classes recently, so with any luck, this version will be much better. Let me know what you guys think of it, okay? Also, if anybody is reading my other stories and they've disappeared, it's because they've been deleted and I'm in the process of rewriting and reposting the ones I'm gonna keep working on. Okay, I'll shut up now. Enjoy the story!

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PROLOGUE 

London winters can get pretty ugly. Unexpected snowstorms are a regular occurrence, and the snowfall often exceeds several inches—making it miserable going for the city's rodent residents. The wind does little to improve the situation. What humans consider an annoying sudden gust of air that knocks the hats from their heads is enough to throw the mice clean off their feet.

That particular season was always a difficult time for these critters.

The winter of 1899 wasn't much different, at least not in that respect.

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CHAPTER 1 

Basil of Baker Street.

Every mouse in London knew the name by the time the twentieth century began to approach. His reputation skyrocketed after he defeated Ratigan in that dangerous showdown on Big Ben that stormy night. The papers praised him, the Queen herself honored him, the public was ever grateful to him.

Even Scotland Yard—though reluctant—was calling upon his help more often.

Although it was a nice perk, all this publicity and fame wasn't necessarily what the great mouse detective was after. Using his peculiar skills and abstract knowledge to bring in many a criminal had become a way of life for him. It kept his mind busy. Similar to his idol, Sherlock Holmes, Basil didn't like to remain inactive for long.

And yet, for all his success, he felt that something was missing.

What irritated him the most was that he couldn't figure out exactly what it was. He had handled tougher cases in the past, but this was by far the most challenging situation he'd ever been confronted with. Even when he focused all of his ability onto this single dilemma, he was completely unable to put his finger on the problem.

Some days he wondered if it wasn't simply the lack of a worthy opponent that plagued him. Since Ratigan's demise a year and a half earlier, London had become much quieter and safer. Great news for the mouse world, but not so great for the detective. While the occasional head-scratcher did arise, none of the cases he took on required as much brainpower as he had needed when Ratigan was working behind the scenes.

He figured that no longer having anyone who could match wits with him—coupled with the naturally depressing setting of the winter season—was most likely responsible for his down in the dumps way of thinking in recent months. On top of that, the city had experienced more snow than usual during the winter of '98 and '99, so not many criminals wanted to risk venturing out into the strange white substance to commit any misdeeds.

London was, regrettably, a crime-free city that season.

As January came to a close, things hadn't changed. Though some of the snow had begun to melt away, the felons still weren't taking their chances. Scotland Yard had investigated a couple of home invasions, but that was about it. Even those brick heads could solve simple cases like that. Basil's help wasn't needed.

The detective usually turned to his music as a source of comfort. He'd had to buy a new Stradivarius—considering he sat on the instrument he previously owned—and already it had been used more than its predecessor. Nearly every night he would hide away in his bedroom and play virtually every song he could think of. Sometimes he'd make up some music on the spot that depicted his mood. The sound of violin music could often be heard long into the night.

He knew his friend was concerned about him. Having studied medicine, it was natural for the good doctor's instincts to kick in. Dawson meant well, but due to his nature, the detective didn't particularly appreciate others poking their noses into his personal business.

Late one February evening, Basil was stretched out over the sofa running the bow over the violin's strings with no real purpose. His friend and roommate had braved the chilly air and snow to make a house call for an elderly lady mouse just down the street. Her fireplace had blocked up and wasn't working properly, so she was having a few health problems due to the cold.

Dawson had been absent for most of the day, but the detective hadn't thought much about it. It wasn't an unusual thing for the doctor to occasionally spend hours away from their lodgings at 221B on Baker Street. His friend would return whenever he was finished.

The clock was just beginning to chime the nine o'clock hour when he heard the door opening. "Evening, Dawson," he remarked nonchalantly without diverting his attention from the violin. "Mrs. Miller is faring much better, I hope?"

"Uncle Basil!"

The detective was profoundly taken by surprise to hear a small voice responding to his inquiry instead of Dawson's—so surprised, in fact, that the bow ran across the strings in such a way that it made a little screech. He sat up to peek over the back of the sofa and was even more astounded when a certain young Scottish mouse came dashing inside from the doorway.

Little Olivia Flaversham practically pounced on the detective, nearly knocking the wind out of him. "I'm so happy to see you again!"

For the first time in several weeks, Basil actually laughed as he tried to pry the little one off of him. "Well, what do you know? It's good to see you, too, Miss Flamchester."

She shook her head with a smile. "Just call me Olivia, Basil. We both know you'll never get my last name right."

"I'll get it one of these days. Just give me time."

"I doubt it."

He chuckled as he stood up and stole a glance towards the front door. The girl's father and the doctor were just now catching up to her and were already laughing. "What's all this, then, Dawson?"

"Don't look at me, Basil. I had nothing to do with this surprise visit." The short, stout mouse set his overcoat and hat on one of the coat rack's empty hooks. "I merely bumped into them on my way back here. I'm just as surprised as you are."

The detective temporarily forgot about his downhearted mood as he made his way over to greet the toy maker. "It's nice to see you're both doing well. You've been spending some time in Windsor, I see."

Flaversham didn't seem surprised. "Aye, we've been staying with my brother. I got the toyshop back up and running out there. Things have been a little slow recently, and Olivia has been wanting to make this trip for months, so we decided to pop in and say hello. I hope we're not intruding."

"No, of course not. Actually, things are rather slow around here, as well. It's nice to have some familiar company for a change."

Olivia tugged on the detective's sleeve. "Basil, do you think it would be all right if Daddy and I stayed here for a few days?"

He knelt down to her level and rested his hand on her shoulder with a smile. "That would be just fine. You and your father are welcome to stay here for as long as you like. I'm sure Mrs. Judson won't mind."

Later that night, Basil laid awake on the sofa staring at the last cinders in the fireplace as they faded away. He'd surrendered his bedroom so that the girl and her father could have a place to sleep. It didn't bother him, really. He often crashed on the couch when he was up late working on a case.

Though he put forth an honest effort to fall asleep, his mind kept wandering back to the conversation he'd overheard between father and daughter as he passed the bedroom door earlier that evening.

"Olivia, dear, I really wish you hadn't asked Mr. Basil to allow us to stay with him. I feel like we're in his way."

"What's wrong with asking for help, Daddy?"

"Nothing, I suppose, but it is rather embarrassing."

"So you think Basil knows?"

"Most likely. The fellow's got a sharp eye and a quick wit. I wouldn't be surprised if he's already unraveled my lie."

Truth be told, he had. When the Flavershams first arrived that night, he noticed that the toy maker no longer had the usual calluses on his paws that come with that particular trade. He hadn't been making toys for quite some time. Something had happened, but as of yet, he couldn't deduce for certain exactly what it was. The fellow was doing a good job of hiding it.

Although he was sure Flaversham knew he hadn't fooled the detective, Basil didn't let on about his suspicions. They were good friends who were in need of a little assistance, and he wasn't about to turn them away. Truthfully, aside from Dawson, they were the only real friends he had where the relationship wasn't professional.

A soft whisper suddenly caught his attention. "Basil? Are you asleep yet?"

He sat up and shifted his gaze towards the opposite end of the sofa. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the darkness, and he was surprised to find Olivia standing in the doorframe in her nightclothes. "No, can't say as I am. What are you still doing up?"

She carefully made her way across the room in the dark and took a seat next to him. "I wanted to talk to you about Daddy. He didn't exactly tell you the truth about getting his toy shop running again."

"Yes, I suspected as much. My apologies, young lady, but I must confess that I'm not exactly the best counselor."

"Maybe not, but I still wanted to tell someone. Daddy's afraid to ask for help from anybody. I almost couldn't even talk him into coming back to London to see you."

"Your father's a proud mouse, that's all. It's not uncommon. Since the incident with Ratigan, I'm sure he's simply been trying to provide you with a better life. He's just having some difficulties in figuring out how to go about it. Everything will straighten out in the end. You'll see."

"You think so?"

He ruffled her fur with a bit of a chuckle. "I know so. In the meantime, you're both welcome here."

She slid back down to the floor, and she caught him off guard when she threw her arms around his waist in a tight hug. "Thank you."

Basil returned the hug with a little uncertainty. "Yes, well…it's getting rather late, don't you think? Now, go on. Off to bed with you." Somehow he managed to pry her off of him and gave her a gentle nudge towards the bedroom. He waited until she was out of sight before lying down again.

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Okay, there's the rewritten chapter one. I hope I got Olivia's nationality right. I was having trouble deciding whether she and her father were Irish or Scottish, so I just took a guess. Forgive me if I guessed wrong. And don't ask me why I have the toy maker falling on hard times. I needed an excuse for him and his daughter to be around for the story, and that's all I could think of. I'm not even sure myself exactly what his problem's going to be yet. My brain's shot right now. Either way, chapter two should be up fairly soon. I'm finally getting back into this story, so I hope updates will be more frequent. Let me know what you guys think of the rewrite, okay? See y'all next chapter!


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